


A Little Birdie Told Me

by Kaimera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, But not that much, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Ho boy here goes, Light Angst, M/M, My First Fanfic, Please let these two fools be happy, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Post-Recall, Something silly and sweet with Reaper's Reapbeans, Somewhat, i think, someone teach me how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-26 21:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12067641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaimera/pseuds/Kaimera
Summary: Suddenly there’s a sound near his feet and then the slightest pressure on his boot. Peacekeeper is out of her holster and aimed downward before Jesse even looks, and when he does, he blinks.“Die!”Jesse binks again. What in–“Die, die, die!”With a yelp, he staggers back, nearly tripping over his own feet. There’s an undignified squeak as the thing – whatever it is – tumbles off him and bounces as it rolls a few feet away. Jesse can only stare dazedly as it immediately hops back up, all agitated-like, and gives a frantic flap of its arms. No, wait. Those aren’t arms…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mariruse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariruse/gifts).



> This was inspired completely by [this fantastic headcannon](http://mariruse.tumblr.com/post/163886283620/so-im-making-reap-bean-plushies-and-theyre), and it's consumed my life for the past few weeks so I'm dedicating this fic to them and also to all the awesome McReyes writers on this site, with a special shoutout to [VioletWreck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletWreck), because her McReyes stuff never fail to make me want to simultaneously fling myself off a cliff and curl up in a ball weeping like a baby.
> 
> This is my very first fic ever so if it reads a little weird, I welcome the feedback to my writing :) Hope everyone who reads enjoys this silly little thing I spawned!

The first time he stumbles onto it, he’s walking through a field of bodies lying scattered across the ground.

“Make sure there aren’t any stragglers,” 76 ordered gruffly, and seeing as how Jesse emerged from the fight relatively in one piece, the older man handed the clean-up task over to him while the others returned back to the plane to rest up their wounds before the trip back.

As he weaves between the bloody carnage left behind in their wake, he comes upon a concrete wall with a sizeable dent in it, cracked almost like an egg. Courtesy of Doomfist.

Jesse can’t help but wince when he recalls the way the large man slammed Reaper into it, the way the spectre crumbled at his feet, body practically flickering with all the smoke gathering along the ground. That inhumanly large gauntlet lifted then, on the verge of delivering another blow, and Jesse – across the room and nowhere near – panicked and raised Peacekeeper, aiming for his arm, his side, his legs, anywhere, really. But then Lúcio was suddenly in the way. A boom, a roar, and the sound of glass crashing came next. By the time Jesse rushed over, Reaper was gone and Lúcio was tending to Pharah lying groaning on the ground, her armour smoking and looking worse for wear.

“He said he’ll meet us back on the plane, said he’ll be fine.” Lúcio didn’t sound too confident when Jesse asked, but the medic was too focused on their fallen soldier. After 76 found nothing but broken glass where Doomfist fell, they got him to carry a protesting Pharah back to the ship while Jesse quickly swept the area. Now here he is, standing amidst the aftermath and trying his damn hardest not to think about the last member of their squad and the questionable condition he’s in.

(He’s not worried.)

(He refuses to be worried.)

Suddenly there’s a sound near his feet and then the slightest pressure on his boot. Peacekeeper is out of her holster and aimed downward before Jesse even looks, and when he does, he blinks.

“Die!”

Jesse binks again. What in–

“Die, die, die!”

With a yelp, he staggers back, nearly tripping over his own feet. There’s an undignified squeak as the thing – whatever it is – tumbles off him and _bounces_ as it rolls a few feet away. Jesse can only stare dazedly as it immediately hops back up, all agitated-like, and gives a frantic flap of its arms. No, wait. Those aren’t arms…

He stares at it more in confusion than unease, dropping down on one knee to watch as the little thing waddles back over to him and – is it _chirping?_  It’s a bird, it’s gotta be. ‘Cept this ain’t a bird Jesse’s ever seen before. It’s tiny and round, feathers a startling black save for the distinct white plumage shaping a rather flat face and beak. Beady black eyes squint accusingly up at him.

“Now just what might you be, li’l fella?” When it nears, a finger ventures out to poke at it. It squawks again and its whole body puffs up. Jesse would laugh if the next sound that didn’t come from it was, “Die”.

It sure as hell sounds a lot like that singular word, in any case.

Not to mention there’s something strangely familiar with the way it’s screeched...

Strange bird, indeed. Jesse takes in the ink-black feathers, the curious owlish face and that unnerving glare.

“Die!”

There’s a click and he feels his eyes widen. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He scoops the bird-like creature up, brings it to face-level. “ _Reaper?_ ”

“He made it to the ship.”

Jesse jumps up and whirls around, clutching his hands to his chest. 76 is standing by the door and he can feel the scowl from behind the red visor. “What’s taking so long, McCree?”

Jesse doesn’t answer the question, waves it off with a breezy air he doesn’t feel. “Nearly done, be right with you guys in a tick,” he says a bit too cheerfully.

If his strange reaction is noticed, it’s not shown. “We’ve got wounded to tend to, don’t take your time,” the former Strike Commander of Overwatch grunts, then leaves Jesse alone to be thoroughly befuddled with his find.

“So if Reaper’s way over there, what exactly are ya?” he murmurs, drawing his hands back and looking down at the critter sitting nice and snug there. Whatever kind of pet it is, it’s definitely related to Reaper. Somehow. The resemblance is uncanny and – if Jesse’s being honest – slightly bizarre.

For a bird, it’s quite a chubby and squirmy thing, letting out an angry squeak to clearly voice its displeasure at that unexpected squeeze to hide it.

“Calm down,” he says, amused. “I’ll bring you back t’him.” At the very least, it’ll be a very interesting conversation to have.

Surprisingly, Jesse can feel its warmth even through the leather of his gloves, and he shifts and maneuvers his serape one-handed until it forms a small makeshift hammock across his chest. Once the little Reaper-fied bird is slipped into it, carefully covered by a fold, Jesse takes his leave, mindful not to jostle too much.

Sure enough, the former commander of Blackwatch is on the plane, situated near the front with Lúcio bent over him almost anxiously. Jesse ignores the way his heart seems to unclench but the hesitation that follows is unexpected and gives him pause before he abruptly changes directions and makes his way over to sit by a dozing Pharah. Later, he tells himself, when Reaper is seen to and there’s no one around.

 _Later,_ Jesse finds, comes by much harder than he expects. Lúcio never leaves Reyes’s side, except to check on Pharah once and make his way to the cockpit to speak with Morrison for a few minutes before returning to his patient’s side. (The plane seems to speed up a bit after that.) The minute they land back on base, Angela is there to whisk both injured parties away, though Jesse catches a more pinched worry in the furrow of her brows when her eyes linger on Reaper’s limping form. And hours later, when he tries to stop by the Medbay, the good doctor is still locked away in the operating room with her patient.

It’s not Pharah.

(He’s not worried.)

(He wishes he could stop worrying.)

So Jesse retires to his room and when he looks down, his new friend is snuggled into the fabric of his serape, feathers curiously fluffed out as it snoozes. He idly scratches the back of his neck.

“Guess you’re stayin’ with me for the time being.”

As the days turn into weeks, he realises he probably should have been clearer with the conditions of that.

Jesse doesn’t mean to hang on to his new friend, doesn’t mean to set up a shoe box on his window ledge and line it with a cut off the fleece blanket he owns. He doesn’t mean to set a small water dish next to the box and he sure as hell doesn’t mean to bring back extra helpings of meals to his room and let the little bird nibble off bits of fish and crackers from the palm of his hand.

He _intends_ to hand the bird back to its owner, he just...never quite gets around to that.

And it’s not like Reyes is making things easier with how sparse he makes himself. It’s almost ridiculous how often Jesse has walked into a room, only to taste a hint of smoke and ash lingering in the air, unusually strong, and he knows he’s just missed Reyes. After the fourth time it happens, Jesse’s convinced he’s being deliberately avoided.

He tries not to let it sting too much.

When he _does_ manage to be in the same room as Reyes, it always happens to be in the company of others, and however much he tries, Jesse can never truly get him alone to talk. (He’s pretty sure bringing up the subject of a lost pet in front of their teammates isn’t something his old commander will appreciate.) And it’s not like Reyes hangs around long enough for Jesse to corner him.

He realises one day, uneasily, that he can’t remember if this has been going on even before he’s had a reason to hunt Reyes down.

So Jesse holds on to the little bird-creature. He’s not sure if Reyes knows he’s lost something or that it even exists, but Jesse will keep trying, and until then, he’ll hang on to it. Keep it safe for Reyes.

The second time it happens, it’s three weeks later and they’re breaking into one of Vishkar’s labs. Things had gone a little sideways and Reaper left to act as a distraction and draw fire away from the rest of the team. That didn’t quite work out when they ran into another patrol on the way out, and in the midst of the fight, Reaper materialised from smoke beside them, growling and clutching at his side.

“Reyes!”

Before Jesse can move to help, the omnic is there. “I have him,” Zenyetta reassures Jesse just as an orb breaks away from the necklace of malas around his neck to float over Reaper’s hood. Jesse’s focus is forced back to their enemies across the room – just in time to spot a small, horrifyingly-familiar shape toddling near the feet of the guards.

Jesse lets out a panicked little yell and practically dives away from the cover he’s behind, pulling out Deadeye and letting loose a series of shots to take out the three he’d seen were closest to it. He only has a brief moment to worry about falling bodies crushing a puny, round one, and then Tracer dispatches the last two and Jesse’s trying very hard not to run over to where he last saw the little bird.

Everyone else save for Reaper gives him inquiring looks, but he just tosses over his shoulder, “Wanna make sure they’re all down.” He pauses for a moment, eyes lingering on Reaper’s still-slouched form. “Get him back to the ship first, be right behind you,” he tells Lena and Zenyetta, and they obey, a quick retreat on the forefront of their minds.

And then he’s searching around the lifeless bodies with barely-restrained alarm, dread slowly weighing his heart down when he neither sees nor hears –

“Die!”

Jesse looks down.

“There yer are!” he exclaims and swoops down to pluck it up, cradling it close to his face as he scans it over for any sign of injuries, nearly beside himself. “Gave me a right heart attack you did. Just what do you think you’re doin’ here?” he chides sternly at it.

The little thing must have snuck out after Jesse left for the mission and tagged along as a stowaway on the flight over. No way it could’ve been on his person at any time; his pockets were definitely empty when they broke into the building and if it hid itself in his serape, Jesse would’ve felt some kind of movement from it. The damn thing can get pretty squirmy.

Perhaps it can disappear and rematerialise like its owner. _Wouldn’t that be something_ , he scoffs to himself.

“Die, die!”

Jesse tucks it securely in his serape once more, berating it like a worrisome parent, then dashes back to the ship so they can return home.

On the ride back, Jesse tries again to speak with Reyes, but the older man is sitting slumped in a seat near the back, the glowing orb still hovering above him. Jesse bites his lip and peeks down at his passenger; he’s mildly surprised to find it snoozing. _Another time_ , he thinks, pretends he’s not just making up excuses for himself.

Just like the last mission, Angela is there to greet them when they come pouring out of the plane, and once more, she darts over to Reyes’s side and all but hauls him off with Zenyetta’s help.

Jesse refuses to acknowledge the strain that’s wormed its way into his chest.

When he walks through the door of his room and goes to deposit his friend back to its makeshift bed, he grinds to a halt when he comes upon the window. A pair of owlish dark eyes stare fixedly up at him. He blinks.

“Die?”

He looks down at his serape, at _another_ pair of dark eyes, now awake and wriggling about.

“Die!”

Jesse gapes.

***

By the end of the fourth month, Jesse’s room is home to four of the little – what he’s officially labelled – bean-birds. This time he knows to look out for them on assignments where Reaper is on the team, and he tries his best to get himself more or less assigned to any of the more dangerous outings that include his former commander. If anyone notices, much less Reyes, they don’t comment on it.

It doesn’t happen every time, but Jesse tries not to think too much about how the little birds only appear after Reaper emerges from the mission limping or staggering more than usual. When that happens, Jesse makes sure to stay behind and shoo the rest of the group back to their plane, offering to sweep the place under the guise of making sure there aren’t any strays left. Then he carefully and thoroughly combs the area with sharp eyes and even sharper ears until he hears, always hears, the telltale squeaks of “Die, die, die!”.

Today’s mission is a smooth one; more of an infiltration into the headquarters of one of Talon’s confirmed contacts, thanks to Reaper’s intel. He and Genji return home unscathed and when Jesse steps into his room, he’s immediately greeted with a flurry of chirps. Two of them swarm his feet, bouncing up and down and fluttering their little wings.

“Food! Feed, feed!”

“Hold, hold!”

Jesse chuckles and gingerly picks up the one jumping on his boot, places it on his shoulder where it proceeds to skitter closer and snuggle right into his neck. He’s affectionately dubbed that one Squish, given how much it seeks him out only to nuzzle and peck softly at his beard. It appears to enjoy getting handled by Jesse the most out of the four and he has a rather soft spot for it.

He originally named the other one Gabi, seeing as how it reminds Jesse of the way Gabe used to all but inhale his meals in the cafeteria back when Overwatch was still up and running. (The man could go for fourths at the table and out-eat anyone who wasn’t Morrison, no doubt thanks to that SEP shit pumping through his veins at that time. It was always a legendary topic amongst Overwatch recruits – and a long-standing tease with the Blackwatch ones.) But that lasted all of forty-eight hours when Jesse found himself choking out the name after a particularly bad sleep plagued him with memories of his old life. Memories of a _good_ life.

So he settled for something simpler.

“Feed food! Feed!” Pumpkin squawks his demands again.

“Alright, alright. Calm yer horses,” he scolds it. “I swear, you eat more than Gabe used to.” He walks over to his table where he’s stashed a couple of granola bars in the drawers and tears open a new packet, starts to break the bar into smaller pieces as Pumpkin hops its way up. After making sure the crumbs are all on the plate and Pumpkin’s not liable to make that much of a mess, he steps over to the ledge where the two eldest birds are cuddling together in the crate. (He replaced the shoebox when he brought Squish back.) Sleepy is, as usual, snoozing away, and Reap-bird is lazily grooming itself.

Jesse never meant to name them; after all, it didn’t make sense to get attached when he wasn’t even going to keep them for long, and he was going to return them to Reyes eventually. That was the plan – or at least it was what he told himself. But then three weeks turned into a month, which turned into two, and pretty soon, two mouths turned into four, and now here he is, still yet to broach the wholly unconventional topic with Reyes of housing a collection of strange but delightful little birds that may or may not have come from him. (Jesse has long since stopped questioning exactly how the birds come about.)

As if sensing his return, Sleepy blinks awake and hoots up at Jesse, flapping its wings once. “Night?”

“Naw, Sleeps. Ain’t night night yet.”

The name is part ironic, given the number of sleepless nights Jesse has where he’s awaken from a nightmare in cold sweat, only to find Sleepy always blinking up at him when he thinks to peek into the crate.

(“Hey there, li’l buddy. Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

“Night!”

“Right then. C’mon.”

He scoops Sleepy up, perches him on his shoulder, and they make their way to the kitchen where Jesse nurses a cup of coffee under faint neon lights until an orange glow paints over the shadows of the room.

He’s far from the only one to be brooding away in the tranquility of the night, kept awake by personal demons, but he always politely declines the company when it’s offered and finds another empty room to sit in with Sleepy and _breathe_.

Sometimes he speaks softly to it while it totters about –

“He used to have trouble sleepin’ too, y’know,” Jesse quietly tells Sleepy once. “Used to find him still up in his office at godawful hours. Used to ask why he was still awake. Then we’d get to talkin’, jus’ like how you and I are doin’ right now, buddy. We’d talk and talk till the sun showed its face.” Jesse exhales heavily. “Sure do miss those nights.”

– Other times the silence reigns undisturbed.

Jesse always retreats back to his room before anyone else shows up.)

Reap-bird’s head pops up from it’s grooming and glares a look at Jesse. Jesse chances a finger to brush over the top of its head but it squawks angrily and bites at the air. “Die, die!”

He sighs. Reap-bird is the very first one Jesse found, and while the others have all developed their own personalities, usually after a week in his care, Reap-bird’s mood still matches almost to a T with its original owner (maker?). More often than not, its feathers are puffed out in agitation and it holes up in a corner of the crate, sullen and sulky, and Jesse knows to leave it well enough alone.

Meanwhile, its brothers are able to manage other one-word syllables like “Hi” and “Eat” and even his own name sometimes (his heart feels unbearably tender whenever one of them calls out, “Jess, Jess!”), but the eldest critter only ever squeaks out two words: “Die” and “Ingrate”.

Jesse doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Sometimes though, Reap-bird says it softly, almost sad-like, and Jesse can swear it’s on the verge of tears, like it’s about to cry – like it _can_ cry – and Jesse’s chest aches something fierce.

That’s when he risks his hands to reach down and snag Reap-bird up to envelop it in his palms. He coos down at it gently, lovingly.

“There, now. I’ve got you, darlin’. Please don’t be sad,” he pleads with it as it trembles in his grasp. “There, there.”

Then there are times when Reap-bird is overly angry and loud, nigh inconsolable with its tantrum-throwing. That’s when Jesse makes sure to slip on his gloves and snatch it up before settling down on the floor while he talks to it in hushed tones.

He’s long figured lectures don’t work (he’s also too old to care about how silly it might look), his admonishments only seem to make things worse because the little bird just screeches right back at him or does a weird little simmer where smoke starts to waft out from under its damn wings and Jesse doesn’t think he can be surprised anymore. So for a while, he didn’t know how to deal with Reap-bird’s more volatile outbursts.

And then one day, during an hours-long training session, Jesse shoved Reaper aside when he spotted an oncoming arrow from Hanzo, who was on the opposite team. (The arrows were enforced with padding, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still sting like a bitch when shot over a distance of two hundred feet.) Jesse was benched from that ‘fatal injury’ and after the simulation ended, Reaper stormed up to him, looking for all the world like he wanted to snap Jesse’s head off.

“Don’t _ever_ ,” he snarled, “do that again.”

“Well, ‘scuse me for watchin’ yer back!” Jesse retorted, after shaking off the unexpected blow.

Reaper scoffed derisively. “I can take care of myself, _ingrate_. You just worry about your own ass.” Then he left in a flourish of smoke.

Jesse returned to his room sore and covered in bruises, both visible to the eye and not, where he found Reap-bird terrorizing his pillow. With a heavy sigh, he lifted it up and sank to the ground, plopping it down onto his lap.

“Y’know, it ain’t nice of you to lash out like that. What’s my pillow ever done t’ya?”

“Ingrate!”

Jesse’s heart constricted painfully and he scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly bone-tired.

“Wish I knew what’s botherin’ you so bad. Wish you’d just tell me.”

“Die, die, die! Die!”

“Y’know you ain’t alone no more, right?” Jesse’s throat squeezed tight and he shut his eyes, inhaled a shuddering breath. “I promise I ain’t mad, not anymore.” The squawks slowed down. “I mean, I was at first, but that was ‘cause of the hurt, I reckon.”

In the crate, Squish and Pumpkin’s heads popped up but they remained silent, still subdued by their brother’s rampage.

“It’s alright to be angry when you’re hurtin’,” Jesse murmured. Reap-bird was blinking up at him now, mollified. “Don’t want you to hurt alone, is all.”

Not another peep came out of it for the rest of the day.

Jesse doesn’t much like lectures himself either.

“I’m sorry I never said anythin’,” he ends up saying to Reap-bird during another episode, a couple weeks later.

“Die, die,” it hisses.

Jesse just strokes it, chest feeling painfully empty after having just witnessed Reaper physically break down right in front of him – nothing but a swirling cloud of smoke that didn’t seem to know where to converge in the training room. The session ended early with Angela rushing onto the scene and everyone else was immediately dismissed.

A whimper comes from his lap.

“I’m sorry I just up and left without a word. Without saying goodbye.”

“Die,” it says again, now a whine.

“I’m sorry I left.”

The anger dissolves into quivers.

***

Giving them baths is the hardest chore for Jesse, who’s had to sneak out of his room multiple times now (always past midnight when the hallways are peacefully empty and most everyone has retired for the night), a towel slung over his shoulder and an extra granola bar on hand for Pumpkin. He has all four critters bundled up in his serape and out of sight as he scurries along to the communal showers, occasionally shushing them when one or two pipe up with an endearing, “Jess, Jess!”.

Once they reach the washroom, he plugs in two sinks and fills them until both are about halfway full with water, then slips his little pets into their makeshift bathtubs, two in each. Sometimes he takes a seat on a bench by the wall, fondly watching them splash about while keeping an ear out for the sound of footsteps heading their way. Other times he’s more hands-on and gently scrubs their feathers, massages the tops of their little heads and playfully tickling them as they squeak and try to paddle away.

When they’re done he picks them up one by one and rubs the towel all over them, taking care to dry out their wings in particular, then swaddles them back up in his serape, drains all the water, and returns to his room with the clean and tuckered out bean-birds.

Those nights are the ones where he refrains from settling them back down into the crate, and instead gathers them all onto a pillow and arranges it next to him in bed, where they end up sidling closer to cuddle in next to his warmth.

The dreamless sleeps during those nights are a welcome reprieve.

***

He finds the fifth one during a hostage mission at his old turf of Route 66, where the remnants of Deadlock are up to their old tricks dealing with illegal military-grade weaponry and holding a bunch of the local cops (the ones that aren’t in their pockets) at gunpoint. He’s been separated from the rest of the team – stupid mistake, he knows – and now he’s left to deal with a smaller group of them that’s broken off to chase after him with a vengeance.

Deadeye’s rendered four of them out for the count, and Jesse’s still riding the high of its aftermath when something lands on the ground a few feet away from him; something dark and small and round that has him blinking fiercely to force his goddamn vision to focus. It’s –

“Fuck!”

Jesse spins around and lunges away, bracing himself for excruciating heat. Something warm wraps itself around him from behind right before the explosion knocks him off his feet.

A strange feeling assaults him for a quarter of a second, like his stomach is rearranging itself and he feels like he’s floating. And then he lands roughly on the sandy ground, rolling away in a tumble, ears ringing and head spinning.

A solid weight bumps into him from behind, nearly bowling him over and flattening him to the ground, and there’s a huff of air on the back of his head. Then whatever it is slides off him and Jesse groans, tries to think past his rattled brain still slamming around in his skull. He gets his hands and feet up under him, wants to dispel the fog of white noise in his eardrums but he can’t and when he finally lifts his head to look to the side, he’s greeted with Reaper’s bone-white owl mask.

Jesse doesn’t realise he’s saying Reyes’s name over and over again until the resounding static starts to clear and a familiar pained grunt breaches through. And it isn’t until his eyes land on the back of that dark coat that panic is gripping his throat like a claw. The coat is singed and the column of metal spine plates attached on a back that he sees more often than he likes has been blown to bits.

Reaper must have absorbed the impact of the blast. Where the hell did he even come from?

(It’s only much later when they’re back on base that Jesse vaguely recalls just how far away removed from the original impact of the explosion he and Reyes were.)

 _Something’s wrong_ , his brain screams at him before he even sees it – Jesse’s eyes struggle to take in the sight before him; Reaper’s lower half is swathed in coils of inky darkness. It’s almost a thing to behold, the shadows are writhing almost angrily, coming together and separating in fitful bursts, legs non-existent as the wraith twitches on the ground. Off to the side, a particular ball of shadows seems to be extricating itself from a larger cloud of smoke.

“Reyes, can you hear me? _Gabe?_ ” Coughs wreck him as he reaches out to move Reyes’s body onto its side and the full mask comes into view.

It’s broken. Smoke is leaking out from the cracks adorning it and there’s a chunk missing, exposing a cheek and revealing skin with a sickly grey pallor. A different kind of dread besets Jesse when he takes in the gaping hole that’s there, baring canines and teeth, baring _bone_.

And then it’s moving.

“–Cree.”

Jesse shakes his head violently to get rid of the remnant static in his ear. “What?”

“Can’t believe you made me taking a fucking ‘nade for you. Idiot.” There’s little to no heat behind the words, but Jesse doesn’t dwell on that. He seems to not hear Reyes at all when the spectre asks if he’s alright.

“What do I do? Tell me what to do,” he demands instead, breathless.

“Nothing. Looks worse than it is. I’ll be fine, _vaquero_.” But the words slowly trail off and there’s a gasp that sounds suspiciously like his name before Gabe’s whole body suddenly locks up and violent trembles set it.

Jesse jams his finger into his comm and screams for Angela.

***

Later on, after Jesse’s nearly argued himself hoarse and his arm hurts from pounding on the door for an hour straight, demanding to see Reyes, – “He’ll see you once he recovers, Jesse. Return to your room for now and get some rest before I stitch you to your bed myself.” That’s the final threat from the good doctor before Jesse huffs off back to the dorms – he returns to check on his birds, having only made a quick pitstop earlier.

They welcome him back cheerfully, grimy and battered and all. And then he’s left blinking down at the newest addition to his room.

It doesn’t speak.

It doesn’t pipe up with the usual squeaks of “Die!”s, which alarms Jesse to think that the only reason he found it was because he was right there when the blast hit. He was right there when he saw the mess that was the lower half of Reaper’s body ‘bleed’ it out.

This one is smaller than the others, he finds, when he goes to introduce it to a crate full of its brethren.

It also stares at Jesse. A lot.

He doesn’t really mind. It helps take his mind off of ash-grey skin and exposed teeth.

(Reyes doesn’t come to find him.)

He returns to his room one evening to the happy hoots of Squish and, surprisingly, the more insistent ones of Reap-bird, the latter apparently craving some of Jesse’s affections that day. He plops Squish onto its preferred perch atop his shoulder and scoops up its brother, who proceeds to bury itself into the crook of his elbow, the angry “Die”s melting into muted whimpers. Jesse smiles and reaches his free hand up to remove his hat before placing it upside down on top of his desk instead of its usual spot hanging behind the door, and thinks nothing of it.

The next morning, he finds a small black ball of feathers, much smaller than the others, nestled inside the crown.

(For the rest of the day he has to field off the strange looks and double-takes he gets from everyone when they pass by the hatless cowboy.)

Jesse names it Shiver.

He doesn’t hang his hat up behind the door anymore.

***

More than once, Jesse catches Shiver staring almost longingly out the window, always during dusk when the sun has started to set and fiery streaks splash across the clouds. So one day, he tucks Shiver into his favourite spot and makes his way to the rooftops of the base, where he sits cross-legged near the edge, his hat securely in his lap and Shiver fluffing its feathers out delightedly (still not a sound from it).

Together, they’re faced with the sight of the sun slowly dipping below the horizon, the peaceful isolation not unlike that he often shares with Sleepy, except this time he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words.

They have maybe about twenty minutes of daylight left when the hair on the back of his neck stands up.

Jesse shoots to his feet, snatching his hat up with a quick muttered apology down to his companion – “Sorry, darlin’, looks like we’ve gotta cut the sightseein’ short. You hush now.” (Not like he has to tell _Shiver_ , of all the birds, to be quiet.) – He only catches a glimpse of a startled hop before he promptly holds the hat against his chest, careful not to press on the fabric too hard.

He whirls around, ready to flee with an excuse on his tongue and – the casual grin already in place falters when he sees a haze of dark vapor gathering to form a distinct shape moving by the rooftop door.

Reaper halts mid-stride as soon as he’s fully formed, and Jesse is vaguely aware that he’s rooted in place because his feet refuse to move for some goddamn reason and he’s staring, staring at that perfectly emotionless mask, now without a single splinter, and he knows it’s rude to stare but he can’t seem to stop. Reyes is the first to speak.

“McCree,” the greeting is grunted out, though Jesse can still detect the surprise underlying the gravel-rough tone. He clearly didn’t expect to find company up here. It’s enough to break the spell and Jesse gives himself a quick shake on the inside, averts his eyes. The easy grin slips back into place but it feels brittle.

“Ah, sorry, _jefe_ ,” he says automatically, a response that he regrets an impressive two seconds later and wants to slap himself for. Reyes ain’t his superior anymore, hasn’t been for a long time. A voice in his head suddenly whispers, _retreat_ , and Jesse listens.

So he scrambles to continue, “Jus’ came up here for a breather, see the pretty sky and all that. Didn’t realise this spot was already spoken for – I’ll be gettin’ outta yer hair now.” He mumbles that last bit, eyes looking everywhere but at that mask, and he forces his feet to start moving – Lord, he’s going to have to _pass by_ Reyes, to get close and get around him, because the man is just standing _right there_ , right in front of the door and he’s showing no signs of moving aside. Jesse suddenly wonders if jumping off the roof would be a more preferable escape route.

“Shared property.”

Jesse jerks to a stop. “What?”

Reyes shrugs. “The roof isn’t mine. You’re welcome to stay up here as long as you like.”

Jesse’s mouth opens, closes. He’s sure it can’t be healthy, the number of times his heart has stuttered, then raced, then flipped all in the span of two minutes. _Yes_ , he wants to say, _Yes, I’ll stay_. It’s the first time ever that he’s alone with Reyes – _really_ alone – in the months since the both of them came back to Overwatch. This is his chance. _Tell him now. Tell him about the birds. Tell him you miss him and it hurts and you don’t know why but you do. Tell him you’re sorry._

But his chest feels inexplicably tight and Reyes is watching him from behind that damn mask, probably picking out every twitch and movement in his face. Jesse wants to look down, look away, but he can’t now. And he keeps thinking about when he nearly got his back blown up and Reyes was there, so close, and Jesse thinks about how much he wants to _see_ the rest of Gabe’s face, his eyes, his stupid beard and moustache and he – Jesse can’t do this.

“Maybe next time,” he says quickly, airily, though he’s not sure if that’s enough to cover the full-scale, internal panic he’s going through. He can’t tell if it’s the shadows hovering around Reyes or his eyes playing tricks on him when he catches the slight slump to Reyes’s shoulders, but his heart is hammering too loud in his ears for him to think much on it. He needs to leave. He needs to leave _now_ so he can freak out in private and –

“I love you.”

Jesse freezes.

Gabe all but turns into a marble statue with the eerie way he stills.

Thirty-two seconds pass, Jesse counts, before the deadly quiet is broken. Thirty-two seconds of absolute limbo.

“Did you…–”

“No,” Jesse says hurriedly.

The voice speaks up again and this time Jesse can hear how tiny it is, muffled and close by, “I love you!”

Wait a second.

He looks down to where he has his hat pressed against his torso and feels something dig into his chest. Slowly, he peels the hat back and there Shiver is, burrowing itself into him.

“Love you! Love you!”

Jesse’s breath catches.

“What,” Gabe’s raspy tone is somehow more strained than before, “is _that?_ ”

“Uh,” he fumbles.

He doesn’t have to look. He can _feel_ Gabe’s gaze burning a hole into the hat in Jesse’s hands, where the top of little Shiver’s head can just be seen.

“Where...did you get that?”

“Uh,” Jesse says uselessly again as his brain stumbles. His face floods with heat and at the same time, he’s fairly sure he’s broken out in cold sweat. It’s quite a feeling.

And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of Shiver, who’s blinking adoringly up at him, and his heart –

Christ, his heart feels like it’s rending itself in two.

“Jesse, where did you find it?”

“Bomb,” is all he can manage. He sees Gabe start violently out of the corner of his eyes.

There’s a pause, and then, “And why is it saying –”

“I love you!” Shiver’s feathers puff up and Gabe shuffles a little, like he’s uncomfortable.

“Dunno,” Jesse says quietly, still stuck in his daze. “It’s never spoken ‘fore now.”

Gabe seems to soften then, and one clawed hand slowly reaches out towards the bird. Jesse doesn’t mean to draw back but he does, clutching the hat closer to him, gaze still locked on Shiver. Gabe hesitates, then his hand retreats and he lets out a rough cough. “Didn’t know they could say anything else except ‘die’.”

Wait.

Jesse’s head snaps up. “You know they come from you?”

A snort. “Pretty easy guess, don’t you think?” Gabe gestures towards his mask. Then he goes motionless again. “ _They?_ ”

***

“...You’ve been keeping them?” Gabe is clearly baffled.

All of a sudden, Jesse sees what it looks like. They’re standing in the middle of his room, basically being assaulted by a flurry of wings and feathers and excited chirps. Four of the birds are on Jesse’s person, unusually hyper and scrambling for his attention, and Reyes – Reyes looks like he’s engaged in the most intense stare-down with Reap-bird, held carefully in the cup of his clawed hands.

Jesse swallows hard and blurts out, “Just – I know I shoulda given ‘em back t’ya. Swear I was gonna, Gabe.” Reyes’s head lifts to face him and Jesse flushes red, fights the urge to scuff his feet like a child caught in a lie.

“And at first I had one,” he continues in a mumble, “then two, and now I’ve got a whole nest full of ‘em. And I knew they came from you, but I didn’t know if _you_ knew they came from you, and I didn’t want to freak you out that I was keeping something that’s technically a part of you.” – The words are tumbling out of him now and he’s trying (and failing) not to scrunch up the hat in his hands, much to Shiver’s loud protests – “But then I thought, well, what if you _did_ know, then you’d be mad that I didn’t try and give ‘em back. ‘Cept I couldn’t ever get you alone and it’s been mighty hard tryin’ to find the right time to talk to you ‘bout it , and I–I know you’ve been avoidin’ me so I just chalked it up to you hatin’ me. But I swear, Gabe, I’ve been takin’ real good care of them, been giving ‘em baths and feedin’ ‘em well. And no one knows either, I haven’t told anyone and I’ve been real careful when I find ‘em and bring ‘em back here.”

He sucks in a breath, the confession already a balm on his soul, but bringing with it a whole new level of anxiety for the resulting reaction from Reyes, who’s quiet, so quiet, and Jesse thinks he’ll give anything just to see Gabe’s face right this moment without that stupid mask in the way.

Gabe’s rasp is unexpectedly subdued, “You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“Well, ‘course I did. Who else was gonna take care of the li’l critters?”

“But you didn’t _have_ to. You’re not obligated to –” Gabe breaks off.

Jesse’s chest is tight in the lull that follows and he looks down at Squish, who’s made its way from his shoulder, down his arm, and into the hat with its younger brother. The two birds hoot up at him and the knot loosens. Jesse smiles sadly. “I _want_ to.” When he glances back up, that mask is still facing him.

“If you–if you want ‘em back, you can have ‘em y’know.” The words hurt to say but he forces them out. “They ain’t mine in the first place anyhow.”

There’s a sudden burst in activity from the birds – all of them. They panic and start to bump their little heads into him, practically vibrating with distress. Sleepy, who’s managed to find itself a perch atop his head, digs tiny talons into his hair. (They’re too itty-bitty to do much damage but Jesse winces anyway.) Even Reap-bird has turned around in Gabe’s hands to screech angry “Die”s at him, and it takes Jesse two seconds before he registers another sound mixed in with the frantic squawks.

Gabe is laughing.

Well, with the guttural cadence of his voice, it’s more of an extended chuckle, but it’s deep and low and unrestrained, and Jesse can only stare, because it’s been so goddamn long since he’s heard Gabe laugh and hearing it now, even as abrasive as it is, isn’t something he realised he needed.

“They’re not mine, _vaquero_. Not anymore. Besides,” there’s a smirk in Gabe’s voice, “something tells me they’ll sooner rip out the eyes of anyone who tries to take them away from you.”

So now Jesse has to contend with four incredibly agitated little bean-birds, more angry than upset that he even proposed removing them from his care. He has to heave a sigh when Squish, of all its brothers, refuses to even acknowledge him when he tries to calm them down and pet them reassuringly with ‘ _hush now, I ain’t leavin’ ya_ ’s and ‘ _don’t you worry, I promise I ain’t goin’ nowhere_ ’s.

Gabe, meanwhile, watches on silently. And then – “I don’t hate you.”

He blinks. What?

“What?”

“I don’t hate you, Jesse. I can never hate you.”

 _Oh_. Jesse said that, didn’t he? “Then why…?” _Why all the avoidance, all the silence? All the anger?_

It’s Gabe’s turn to look away. “I was ashamed.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Reyes, if this is about Talon –”

“Of course it’s about Talon.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jesse says quietly.

There’s a disgusted scoff. “It might as well be.”

“Last I checked, you can’t blame anyone for bein’ unwittingly brainwashed.”

Gabe is already shaking his head. “And Talon wouldn’t have succeeded if I hadn’t given them the chance to. I made it easy for them, Jesse. That’s no one’s fault but my own, even you said so.”

Jesse flinches. “I didn’t know jack shit back then –”

“But you knew something was wrong, and you did something about it.”

“Yeah,” he says bitterly, “I _ran_.”

“I’m glad you did. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” Gabe’s reply stuns him.

 _But that doesn’t change the fact that you left_ , that little voice, that little demon rears its ugly head. _You left him to be devoured by the wolves_. Hell, his leaving probably made it that much easier for Talon to break down what was left of Gabe’s will at that time. The loss of his second in command. The loss of his friend. The loss of –

No, it doesn’t change the fact that he left _Gabe_.

And Gabriel Reyes, ever the master of reading people – Gabe, who’s known Jesse for years on years, who found Jesse and took him in and nurtured him into one of Blackwatch’s finest. Gabe, who gave Jesse a future, a home, a family, who could’ve given him something _more_ – can see that, and very decidedly says, “I’m not sorry you did.”

Before he starts to suffocate in a wave of his own emotions, Jesse clears his throat and decides a change of topic is very much in order.

So he gives a proper introduction of the birds to Gabe.

As he goes through their names, he hands them over to the other man, plopping them into his hands or on his massive shoulders, and Gabe looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with so many of them and –

“Did you just say what I think you said?”

“What, Reap-bird?”

“...”

“...”

“Really?”

“What’s wrong with Reap-bird?” The bird in question glowers up at the two of them.

“ _Really_ ,” Gabe repeats flatly.

“It’s clever!” Jesse cries.

Ten minutes later they’re both sitting on the ground in a companionable silence so familiar it threatens to wreck Jesse. The birds are divided between them, though more are bouncing about on Gabe, clearly excited that he’s the only other person besides Jesse that they’ve probably come in direct contact with, never mind that he can probably be considered their sire.

“Some of ‘em kinda take after you, y’know.”

Gabe hums. “That so?”

“Sure. Pumpkin here eats like a goddamn stallion and Sleepy likes to keep late hours.” Jesse nods at the eldest one. “And Reap-bird, well, it’s like having _you_ for a roommate,” he muses.

“I’m not surprised. If they come from me, they’re more than likely to adopt parts of my habits and mannerisms.”

“Makes sense,” Jesse says as he eyes a once-more quiet Shiver, cuddling contentedly in his arms.

“I like them,” Gabe announces, a little gruffly, a few minutes later.

Jesse grins at the mask. “The birds?”

“The names.”

***

“ _Soo_...” he drawls. “You create them.”

They’re sitting in the cafeteria, in the dead of the night. A sleepless Jesse wandered in earlier with Sleepy and Shiver, and an hour later he was tentatively joined by a still-masked Reyes, sans his usual getup and decked instead in an old Blackwatch jumper with the hood pulled up. Jesse was surprised but gladly welcomed his company, and it took all of five minutes before they fell into the same banter that thrived so well between them over a decade past, before everything went to shit. Jesse thinks he can happily drown in nostalgia.

“Guess you can say that. Don’t mean to do it, though.”

Jesse thinks for a moment. “Do you _know_ when one pops out of you?”

“I’m not a damn pregnant seahorse, McCree,” Reyes grumbles, hands wrapped around the untouched mug of hot chocolate Jesse whipped up earlier.

– _“Want some, boss?”_

_Gabe’s staring at the steaming cup sitting on the table in front of Jesse. He shakes his head almost morosely. “Don’t bother. It’s going to taste like shit anyway.”_

_“Gee, thanks.” Jesse frowns and he can_ feel _Gabe roll his eyes._

_There’s a slightly bitter undertone in his reply. “Not you. I don’t need to...eat, not anymore. Or drink. If I do, everything just tastes like ash.”_

_Jesse blinks, tucks away that little piece of information. “Well, then. Can’t say that doesn’t suck balls, but I reckon it comes in real handy when it’s Reinhardt’s night to cook.” He gets up and heads back to the kettle, swoops up another cup from the cabinets._

_“Watch yourself,” – Jesse doesn’t need to see to know the other man is smirking – “that’s a highly decorated soldier you’re talking about, so – what are you doing, McCree? Didn’t you hear what I just told you?”_

_He shrugs. “I heard. Just ‘cause you can’t eat anymore, doesn’t mean you don’t still get to enjoy a nice cup a’ cocoa.”_ –

“And no, not really,” Gabe continues, “it just happens. I don’t control it.”

“D’you know when it started?”

“For as long as I’ve been like this, I suppose. Didn’t really notice until later on when one started trailing after me like a lost puppy.”

Jesse perks up. “So you have more of ‘em? Where’re they at, in your room?” Does Gabe even _have_ a room?

“Jesus, I forgot how much you like to ask questions.” There’s a strange tension in the pause before he says carefully, “No. They’re not...here anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t really stick around.” When he blinks in confusion, Gabe sighs. “They’re always gone by the week’s end.”

“Gone? Like how?” If Jesse’s not looking at the other man so hard, he might have missed the barely-there twitch along his shoulders.

“Ah, they sort of turn back into smoke.”

Jesse frowns. _But that would mean_...the realisation hits and the strangled sound he makes is just this side of horrified. He doesn’t notice he’s grabbed Sleepy and Shiver, has them squeezed to his chest, until their indignant squeaks pierce the air. “ _Back into smoke?_ ” he nearly shrieks.

Gabe, meanwhile, is clearly very amused at his distress, tells him to relax. “They probably never had a reason to stay.” – And maybe Jesse’s brain is too sleep-addled, but is that fondness he hears creeping into Gabe’s voice? – “They do, now.”

Jesse lets himself be comforted by those words, but when he returns to his room that night – or rather, morning, he gently relocates all five birds onto his bed and lays down next to them.

***

The first time Jesse sees Gabe without the mask, it’s three weeks of a handful of late-night talkings and rooftop hangouts later. The older man is in the infirmary again, having taken a couple of hits from Widowmaker on the mission, but managed to get away mostly whole. Enough not to warrant another bean-bird bleeding out of him.

This time Jesse doesn’t bother knocking. He’s ready to barrel the door down when Gabe’s voice calls out from inside, telling him to come in, but he jolts to a stop after stepping through the door, his gaze finding the figure lying propped up on the bed in the middle of the room.

Red eyes stare steadily back at him, framed by a face he hasn’t seen in God knows how many years, a face so familiar he feels something inside him crack just from looking at it.

It uncoils the knot in his heart that he doesn’t realise is there.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he breathes, doesn’t care to hide the relief in his voice – nor the longing.

Surprise flickers across Gabe’s marred, grey face, and then he scowls. Jesse recognises the self-loathing that takes over. Well, they can’t have that now, can they?

Before Gabe has a chance to snap out something antagonistic, Jesse meanders closer to the bed, one of his trademark grins plastered in place. “As much as I like the li’l critters, I like the thought of you not gettin’ pummelled that hard even more, so how ‘bout we try to keep that to a minimum, hm?”

Dark brows furrow dangerously at him. “I don’t take orders from you, McCree.” His voice is clearer now, unobscured by his mask, though no less ragged. It’s music to Jesse’s ears.

“You will if you don’t want to be sicced on by my feral beasts.”

That gives Reyes pause, but he recovers quickly. “They’re smoke-birds. And wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”

Jesse mock-gasps, insulted. “How dare you.” He points an accusing finger at Reyes’s impassive look. “I’ll have you know I’ve trained ‘em to tear apart my enemies on sight.”

“So what does that make me?”

“Darlin’,” he notices a corner of that scarred mouth twitch up at that, “that makes you weak and at my mercy to do my biddin’.”

“I commanded a whole agency of covert-ops division, you do recall.”

Jesse waves it off. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Death by bird cuddles. Suppose there are worse ways to go,” Gabe deadpans.

“Hey. Just ‘cause you’ve cuddled with ‘em, doesn’t mean they ain’t gonna turn ‘round and bite your nose off at my say so.”

Finally. Jesse’s rewarded with the smallest hint of a smile. “I’m sure they’re a force to be reckoned with.”

He nods resolutely. “Damn straight they are, and don’t you forget it.”

Gabe doesn’t hold back his chuckle now. Jesse melts.

He’s standing by the bedside now, looking down at Reyes. A fit of courage suddenly strikes him and he lifts a hand to trail a feather-light touch along the side of Gabe’s face. The back of his fingers just barely graze that exposed cheek and come away with grey, smoky flakes, but Jesse doesn’t flinch – and neither does Reyes. “How’re you feelin’?” he murmurs.

Gabe regards him with soft, red eyes for a few beats, then says, “Better.”

After that, Gabe doesn’t wear the mask anymore when it’s just him and Jesse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this was originally meant to be a quick one-shot and clearly something went wrong along the way that allowed this monstrosity to come to fruition, so I had to divide it into two chapters. I would've posted them both together but I literally couldn't wait any longer to post it up, especially since the first bit has been ready for a while now. Currently editing the second chapter so that should be up soon too.
> 
> Also, I'm not exactly fond of the title so that might change, maybe?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Currently editing the second chapter', she says. 'Should be up soon', she says.
> 
> Hahahaha. Hahah. Ha.
> 
> So. I, uh, ended up doubling the length of this second bit. Which I kinda have mixed feelings for because it wasn't even supposed to turn into a whole segment on its own, but it did and now it's almost as long as the first chapter and someone needs to control me because I seem to have a rather serious problem.
> 
> Anyway, here it is: the final part of my one-shot-turned-essay-turned-two-chaptered-turned-Godzilla fic!

_“I’ll thank you kindly not to have any more birds sproutin’ outta ya.”_

_“What’s the matter, McCree? Can’t handle another mouth to feed?” A rough snort._

_Brown eyes narrow. “Very funny. Be careful out there.”_

_“I’m always careful.”_

_A scoff. “Says the man who’s Angie’s favourite visitor.”_

_“You worry too much. Meet you back on the ship.” A pause, and then, “I’ll be fine.”_

And he is. Fine.

But perhaps he should have said something else in turn. Granted him the same courtesy before they separated. Extended the same wish for him to do the same. To be careful.

Gabe doesn’t like irony.

He likes it even less when it occurs at his expense.

How many times has he been the one to be put back together by Dr. Ziegler, to endure her many reprimands for him to be more cautious, to _please stop putting yourself through this agony, Gabriel_ , only to end up back in the same square as soon as the next mission comes along?

It’s not that he’s ignoring Angela. He knows she’s a brilliant doctor, only wants the best for her patients; it’s her luck that she got stuck with Gabe as a terrible excuse for one and he’s as stubborn as they get, so her lectures do little to budge him on his mindset.

Because the crux of the matter is: however painful, however much it _hurts_ like a son of a bitch, Gabe’s body can – and if he can help it, _will_ – take a fucking hit.

It’s the only bright side to his new physical faculties and he’s going to take full advantage of it while he can, though he can’t say he’s too fond of the side effects of constant aching headaches that sometimes result in him losing control over his corporeal state. Or the excruciating effort it takes just to hold his body together after absorbing the brunt of an impact. _Or_ the fact that he feels like he’s on fire all the goddamn time but one touch of his skin comes away freezing.

(For what must be the hundredth time now, he curses the minds and hands behind the grisly mutilation of his physical form, wishes he can at least remember the names and faces responsible, but they elude him still.)

Limits don’t seem to hold much meaning for him any longer. He can go out into a fight, take the worst of the blows, and still come out alive at the end of it – as long as the rest of his team get away with minimal damage. That’s all that matters. He’ll take the hit meant for Fareeha, he’ll take the blast when no one else can, he’ll eat as many enemy shots as it takes, if it means it’ll shift the target off his men’s backs.

It’s the least Gabe can do to make up for his mistakes, his errors.

Fat lot of good that’s doing now.

The one time – the one _fucking_ time that he decides to take the usual dose of advice to heart, from Jesse fucking McCree, of all people, is, of course, when the cowboy decides to go ahead and get himself caught.

It wasn’t part of the plan. Gabe was meant to act as lookout at the very least and provide the distraction where necessary at most while the others searched for intel. It’s his usual role, and after getting the confirmation that they got what they came for, he was looking forward to quietly disrupting a passing patrol group. Except Jesse’s earnest plea for him to be careful earlier chose that moment to run through his head and halt the finger on the trigger of his Hellfire.

So Gabe held back, let them scurry by his shadowy hideout unmolested and figured the team could get away with flying under the radar for this mission.

They failed to factor in the possibility of a surprise arrival from Doomfist.

And maybe if Gabe pulled that damn trigger in the first place and drew attention to his area of the compound first, or if he was faster in finding Ogundimu, if Jesse – stupid, brave, reckless Jesse – didn’t decide to hang back and keep a watchful eye on the newcomer, to wait for Gabe to catch up, then maybe he wouldn’t have been seen and maybe everyone would’ve returned to base with all their limbs attached.

He’s never listening to McCree again.

Now he’s stuck out here while Jesse’s behind tightly locked doors, being operated on by Ziegler and the kid medic who skates everywhere.

(“Honestly, Gabriel. You’re just as bad as him.” Angela is scowling fiercely, hands on her hips as she faces off with Gabe. It’s the third time she’s had to drive him out of the room after he keeps slipping under the crack of the door as smoke to enter. “I cannot help him if you insist on these constant interruptions.” She _tsks_. “And you’re doing no favors to anyone if you remain out here worrying yourself silly.”

“I’m not worried,” he snaps.

She levels him with a knowing look. “He will be _fine_. It’s a simple surgical removal and he’ll be under the whole time so he won’t feel any pain. I can’t say the same for when he awakens but I will do my best and call for you when you are able to visit him.”

A hand raises to run through his hair, jerks to a stop halfway when he realises he still has his mask on and hood pulled up. He drops it back down in a huff and feels clawed fingers curl into a fist. “I know he’ll be fine. I just –” _...want to see him_.

Ziegler’s features soften, like she can detect his inner turmoil. He struggles not to stiffen. “It should not take longer than a few hours, give me that much before you start breathing down my neck again and you can see him for yourself.” Gabe grunts his acquiescence. “In the meantime, either you cease with your intrusions or you return to your quarters. I mean it, Gabriel.” And with that final banishment, she leaves him alone with his restless thoughts.)

Gabe shoots another narrow-eyed glare at the shut doors, growls like he’s the one who’s caged and turns to stalk down the length of the corridor for the eighty-seventh time, a dusty old cowboy hat grasped in one hand.

So this is what it feels like, being on the other side of things.

Gabe hates it.

It’s always been bad; having his team get hurt during missions isn’t an easy thing to shake off, and when they return with a lower body count than what they started out with...well, carrying that sort of guilt around can bury a lesser man. But Gabe’s not a lesser man, and he’s been at this for decades; he’s seen soldiers rise through the ranks only to be taken out by a well-placed bullet, has seen the best of them get knocked out of commission with the loss of a limb. The missions they send him out on now aren’t vastly different to the stings they used to pull back in Blackwatch; the same dangers, the same risks, sometimes even the same enemies, in the case of Deadlock. The ending varies but the casualties are almost always guaranteed.

Gabe understands that fact, accepted it a long time ago. Even years back Jesse managed to amass quite the number of scars from their many assignments, but the thing was; the kid never failed to bounce back, ready to take on the darker side of the world. He hit a slump when he first lost his arm and Gabe hardly left his side for those beginning weeks (much to Morrison’s chagrin and to a greater extent, Ana’s amusement. _For support_ , was what he told them during the day. It was a bit harder to say it to himself when he lay in bed at night), but after Jesse got fitted for a robotic replacement, the kid came back with a vengeance, worked himself to the bone to train his prosthetic. Before long, he was back at Gabe’s side, raring to go.

It’s safe to say he took comfort in the fact that Jesse McCree would always be _alright_ in the end.

So what’s the matter with him now? Why is he pacing the hallway outside the medical ward and testing Angela’s patience with the same question for the past two hours? Why is he so on edge? And angry. And yes, worried.

Gabe scoffs and smoke uncurls from under his mask, betraying the frayed control he has over his state at the moment. _Worry_. That’s a new one. He can count on one hand the number of times his emotional range has breached ‘mild concern’.

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

That’s a lie; he knows exactly what’s wrong.

The man he’s only recently allowed to admit to himself that he loves is lying unconscious on an operating table.

Which is fine. It’s fine. It’s not like Jesse hasn’t undergone something like this before. In a way this is similar, except minus the fresh pain of amputation Jesse first went through. Though the pain from having his remaining organic bones in that arm broken probably more than makes up for it.

A simple surgical removal, Angela said. The mangled state of the arm could argue against that, and the broken metal bits that were stabbed into the flesh of his stump sure as hell didn’t look simple.

A soft snarl escapes Gabe when he remembers Jesse’s scream, remembers the panic that stopped him in his tracks, remembers the stark white terror in the single-minded thought that gripped him of _Jesse, Jesse, Jesse, get to Jesse_. He remembers seeing nothing but red when he came upon them, launching himself at Doomfist then, nothing but a raging vortex of black mist that wanted to get him away from Jesse’s unmoving body, wanted to _kill_.

Hearing that resounding _crack_ of Akande’s head against the wall was satisfying payback, and if it was anyone else lying passed out on the ground, Gabe would have debated finishing the fight. But it was Jesse; it wasn’t a choice. So he rematerialised by the cowboy, scooped him up bridal-style, and shadow-stepped them both the fuck out of there before Doomfist came to his bearings.

The ride back was a blur of him mostly snarling at Tracer to fly faster and refusing to surrender Jesse over to the inspections a very irate Morrison.

No, he thinks now. It won’t ever be a choice because he’ll always pick Jesse. He’ll always come first for Gabe – that much he can say with confidence now.

He’s not sure what changed, only that he’s loved the gunslinger even before the collapse of Overwatch and before Jesse even left, because that betrayal cut into Gabe far more deeply than he cared to admit at that time. And like any other fool, he also fell in love when he didn’t expect to.

He fell in love with the stupid jokes and that stupid drawl, with that ridiculous swagger and even more ridiculous, age-old Southern charm that, against all odds, chipped away at Gabe’s weary, battle-hardened heart.

He fell in love with his kindness and stubbornness that refused to turn into bitter cynicism (like so many others among him, like _Gabe_ ) and only deepened as the years passed by.

He fell in love with the late nights where, for a few precious hours, they weren’t commander and subordinate, but a young man who wasn’t afraid to be insecure, and a jaded old soul who learned to lower his guard in front of a friend.

Somewhere along the way Gabe fell in love with the man Jesse McCree grew into.

But that love was stifled; Gabe buried it under their camaraderie and friendship, never let himself give it more than a passing thought.

Until the birds.

That jolts him out of his musings and he curses. He should check on them. Jesse will want him to, right? After casting one last frown back at the entranceway to the Medbay, he starts making his way to the dormitories where he singles out Jesse’s room. He tries his luck with an old code (that’s apparently still active, lucky him) to override the lock and is rewarded when the door effortlessly swishes open.

As soon as he steps through, however, a dampening silence accosts him and he’s suddenly gripped with anxiety as he strides over to the window ledge, seeking out the contents of the wooden crate on it.

 _One, two, three, four, five_. He exhales. Good, they’re all still here. Memories of several small bodies dissolving into concentrated grey fog before his helpless eyes bombard him for a second and he tampers that unpleasantness before it has a chance to unfold further.

Gabe looks down at the crate full of shadow-birds, all huddled together – _Bean-birds,_  he corrects himself. It’s what Jesse calls them and they’re not his anymore, so who is Gabe to judge the absurdity of that name? And make no mistake, it _is_ an absurd thing to call them – Shakes rack their tiny forms and whimpering chirps spill out as five pairs of dark, beady eyes blink owlishly up at him; they look ready to fall apart at the touch. Maybe he can hold them, or something.

He stares at them for a moment longer, reluctant. How the hell does Jesse tell them apart? When he reaches over to try and scoop one up the damn thing _shrieks_. Then another one breaks away from the fringes and flaps its way over to defend its brother, screeching angrily at him, “Die, die, die!”

Ah. That’ll be Reap-bird. Reap-bird he can handle.

So he plucks that one up instead and the bird immediately starts pecking furiously at his fingers. His skin breaks apart in smoky bits, only to reform just as easily, but it only sets Reap-bird off again and before long his entire palm is leaking ashes. Gabe grimaces down at it, glances back at the crate.

Jesse once mentioned they might be connected to Gabe in more ways than just simple inheritance of his patterns and habits. If these little pipsqueaks are tied to his emotions then he can only guess why they’re in such an erratic state right now.

“Quit that,” he grunts, not expecting it to obey and is thoroughly surprised when it does.

It doesn’t stop pouting, though.

Well, whatever he’s doing obviously isn’t working.

He sighs and searches his brain for what Jesse’s told him so far about them: He usually checks on them right after returning from a mission, because they tend to get rather keyed up just before he leaves on one; They eat, but not often, with Pumpkin being the only exception; Squish and Shiver like to be held, but judging from that recent reaction, they’re more likely to welcome the touch of a cactus than have Gabe hold them (except he knows their preferences lie with kind brown eyes and a lazy southern drawl); And water. Lots and lots of water, apparently.

But when Gabe looks at the water dish, it’s filled to the brim.

He wonders if Jesse keeps any snacks in here, if he should look for some, then decides against it. He doubts the birds, let alone Pumpkin, have much of an appetite right now anyway.

The only thing he can offer is Jesse’s hat, which he relinquishes and gently places on the ledge beside the crate. It’s like a damn beacon with the way the birds start scampering out, fluttering themselves over the brim and tumbling into the crown of it, where they bunch up together once more. Even Reap-bird has hopped off his palm to eagerly join its brothers. The strain in the air eases, but there’s a glaring emptiness that remains. It’s almost too much to bear.

(He tries to think of the last time he felt this lost. Fails.)

So for lack of anything else to say, he tells them awkwardly, stiltedly, about the mission, unused to an audience of the non-human kind. The birds don’t condemn him with accusing looks like he expects, like they don’t blame him for Jesse getting injured, like he could’ve stopped it. It’s enough to lessen the guilt and he carefully retrieves the hat, now heavy and overstuffed with the bean-birds, and settles down on the ground with it on his lap.

They peek up at him.

“He’ll be fine,” Gabe says aloud.

At this point he’s not sure if it’s more for their benefit or his.

***

Five sombre hours later the summons from Angela arrives with a thinly-veiled threat not to disturb her patient’s rest and Gabe finds himself alone in the room with a still-knocked out Jesse, snoozing under a biotic field. Well, mostly alone. Enough that he deems it safe to remove his mask and set it on the bedside table. He runs a hand through his growing curls as he studies Jesse’s face, takes the opportunity to recommit it to memory and make note of every new scar and freckle the cowboy’s acquired since he disappeared like a ghost years ago, leaving behind only his comm and Blackwatch uniform.

Jesse looks peaceful asleep, even with the bruises from the fight decorating his face. His beard is thicker now, and Gabe (not for the first time) tries not to entertain the thought of it scraping against the side of his own face. Dark hair that was once regularly trimmed short in a feeble bid to maintain some semblance of grooming at the very least – and adhere to Overwatch’s dress code at best – now fans out across the pillow in longer locks and Gabe fights the urge to reach forward and run his fingers through them, wonders what it might feel like.

He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there and staring before Jesse’s eyes flicker underneath his lids and then they’re blinking open. The wave of relief that hits Gabe is unexpectedly harsh and every knot of unease, every disquieting coil in his mind from the past few hours loosen until a dull throbbing fills his ears again. But he stays silent and watches as that puzzled gaze flits around until it lands on him. The second it does it turns so tender that Gabe has to swallow. Hard.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

He quirks up a brow, tries not to give in to his mouth tugging upwards. “How hard did you knock your head in that fight?”

“Enough to think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Jesse drawls, a goofy smile in place. “Hey there, angel.” Gabe snorts, but his deadened heart tugs a vicious beat.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, deciding that if Jesse is coherent enough to flirt, then he can afford to pay it no mind.

“Achy, li’l loopy. Doc says the meds are helpin’, but my shoulder’s still smartin’ a bit.”

“She mentioned that might be the case. Want me to get her?”

“Naw, s’just the perks of having every bone in my arm get crushed. Easy ‘nough to ride out.”

The words are spoken lightly but Gabe still flinches. He feels his face tighten infinitesimally and has to curb the impulse to slip into _Commander Reyes_ ; he doesn’t have that right anymore. Unfortunately, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Jesse, despite the numbing effects that being on multiple painkillers must bring. “You gonna yell at me for not followin’ orders, _jefe_?” Instead of being defensive, Jesse’s amused. Highly so.

Gabe can’t say the same for himself. “You should’ve left with the others,” he clipped out.

“I wasn’t goin’ to leave you in an enemy base all by your lonesome.”

“I can take care of myself, McCree. And I said I would be fine. What part of that didn’t you get?”

Jesse clucks his tongue. “First off, you’ll say you’re fine and dandy even if your whole damn body was set ablaze and you’re bein’ munched on by a bear –”

“In what scenario would that even _occur_?”

“– Second,” he continues like Gabe never interrupted, “I figured you could use the break from gettin’ your ass kicked and warmin’ up this bed, so if you’re goin’ to be stubborn about hasslin’ the doc, it’s only fair we take turns.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” Gabe growls, vaguely aware that smoke is leaking out from the side of his face. He forces himself to take a deep breath. “And now you’re the one lying in it without an _arm_. It could’ve been worse.”

“It’s a nice change from the usual, if you ask me.”

“If you think getting your own limb ripped off is a nice change of pace then you need to rethink your goddamn life choices.” There’s an imperceptible twitch in that too-mellow grin but Gabe’s not about to let this go. He can’t. Not when it could be more than just an arm next time. Jesse needs to know, needs to _understand_.

But there’s a casual shrug instead as Jesse nods at his wrapped-up stump. “Well, seems like I can spare this one a few times over.”

Gabe’s fingers come up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You’re not listening to me, McCree. if I lose a leg, it’ll just regenerate right back. Prosthetic notwithstanding, you lose yours and that’s _it_.” He gestures roughly at Jesse’s beaten up body. “None of this had to happen to you and there’s no sense in you getting injured for it when I’m the team’s best bet. So just...trust that I’ll be alright when I say so.”

“Oh, for – when are you goin’ to get it through your thick skull that you ain’t gotta do things alone no more?” Jesse finally snaps.

He nearly throws his hands up. “That isn’t what this is about!”

“Ain’t it?”

Stubborn little shit. But Gabe would rather be on the receiving end of another bashing from Doomfist than admit how close Jesse is. “Even if it is, that’s beside the point. _Point being_ that no one else needs to risk what I can easily handle.”

Jesse frowns and shifts to lean up against the headboard. “You don’t get it, Gabe. Doesn’t matter that you’ll still be in one piece in the end, you think I’m just goin’ to sit back and watch you get yourself into all sorts of hurtin’, just ‘cause you can _handle_ it? Think I’m just gonna leave you be while you go lookin’ for trouble either? And don’t bullshit me, you wouldn’t have left Doomfist well enough alone anyway.” Those brown eyes narrow at him. “The second you heard he was on site you wanted to go after him on your own with no backup. Go on, look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

Fucking damn him. Jesse knew him too well. Gabe works his jaw in agitation and says nothing.

“I know you think you can just take on everythin’ now, but you don’t have to keep puttin’ yourself through that.”

 _I do if it means it keeps everyone else safe, if it keeps_ you _safe._ He knows that line of thinking isn’t the most rational, but that doesn’t mean he won’t _try_.

He’s sure Jesse can read all of that, clear as if it’s all written on his face, because the gunslinger smiles sadly. “Just don’t like the thought of you in that much pain, s’all.” He coughs and ducks his head to mutter, “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt. Again. Reckon I ain’t too fond of that.”

Gabe blinks.

Oh.

The seconds tick by as he tries to wrap his mind around the possibility of someone being that personally invested in his welfare. Of _Jesse_ being that personally invested in his welfare. His frustration fizzles out, dissolves into something altogether different that threatens to engulf him.

Finally, he says softly, “You’ve been speaking to Angela.”

Jesse answers with a scoff. “Don’t have to. Anyone with half a brain can see how much those self-sacrificial bullshit stunts you pull fuck you up.”

 _That bad, huh?_ “Not self-sacrificial,” he feels the need to point out. Gabe’s not suicidal, thank you very much. Neither is he a masochist; it’s not like he enjoys the misery his body goes through. “It’s just the logical option.”

Jesse nods. “And I respect that. But maybe, for my sake, try not to be so logical _all_ the time?” He hesitates, then quickly adds, “I mean, you don’t gotta do it for _me_. Just, y’know, I’m sure it’d be nice if you didn’t always end up groanin’ in pain. For yourself and Angie, that is. Your condition ain’t exactly stable and she gets mighty worried about it sometimes, so she’ll appreciate the effort.”

“I’m sure she will,” Gabe murmurs, aiming a meaningful stare at Jesse, who’s watching him like he’s afraid to ask it of Gabe. The gunslinger doesn’t know there’s next to nothing that Gabe won’t do for him, how could he? And Gabe can be stubborn with a lot of things; this is one of them, but for Jesse, he’ll compromise. So he collapses like a house of cards. “Alright, _cariño_. I’ll stop with the unnecessary ‘bullshit stunts’, but you need to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

The term of affection slips out naturally and Gabe doesn’t notice he’s said it until Jesse faintly sucks in a breath.

“I do, I just don’t have to like it.”

They share a smile and Gabe’s is soft, perhaps softer than he has any right to. Jesse’s eyes wander down to the cast wrapped around his upper body and stump, when he looks back up to Gabe, about to comment something, his gaze catches on the hat that’s sitting atop the bedside table and his eyes widen almost comically.

“My birds!” At the exclamation, the bean-birds come alive again. Gabe resists a sigh at the broken peace. They were all sitting still rather obediently in the hat, like they were hiding out of sight while the two men talked, having been told earlier with a stern _Stay quiet_ , from Gabe when he entered the room with them. Now they’re bursting to life and fighting to struggle out of the hat to get to Jesse. Hopping to the edge of the table, they land with ungraceful plops onto the bed, and before Gabe can warn them to be careful, they almost gingerly start to make their way closer to Jesse.

Two of them – Gabe can only guess are Shiver and Squish – scurry their way up to cuddle against a drowsy but grinning face while one totters delicately across Jesse’s chest to bury itself in the palm of his other hand. The other two happily take up positions along the side of his body and Gabe can only marvel in amusement at the sight.

“They weren’t easy to sneak past Ziegler,” he tells the bedridden man.

That’s an understatement; Gabe had to remove his shotguns so he could slip a couple of them in the holsters while the rest remained in the hat, which he held tight against his chest like he’s seen Jesse do before. The birds were content to stay silent while Gabe briefly exchanged words with Angela outside the room, but the second she mentioned the gunslinger’s name, restless squirming ensued from them and Gabe wasn’t quick enough to cover up his wince when one pesky bird started headbutting him in the stomach from underneath the hat.

His sudden fidgeting was picked up by Angela’s sharp eyes and she started inquiring after his own wellbeing, convinced his cellular restructuring was acting up again and _would you like me to conduct a quick check-up, Gabriel?_ and by that point he was about ready to duck into the room and slam the door in the good doctor’s face, if only to avoid the scrutiny she was combing him over with. If he sounded overly distracted as he dismissed her concerns, she didn’t comment on it save for a strange look directed towards the hat he held. He hopes she didn’t think it looked strangely _bulgy_.

“Thanks, Gabe.”

“Figured you’d enjoy the company.”

Jesse waves it off – or he tries his best to with a handful of bean-bird. “Wouldn’t complain if they weren’t here, reckon ‘m rather fond of yours too.”

That startles a chuckle out of him. “Likewise, McCree.”

Jesse beams, and Gabe isn’t worthy of a smile like that; one that can rival the luster of the sunset that he watches almost everyday, but he lets his fractured heart bask in it anyway.

They talk for a while longer, about anything and everything, like they’re wont to do when it’s just the two of them, and when Jesse’s words start to slur and his eyelids droop further, Gabe gathers the clingy and opposing bean-birds to get ready to leave; they can’t very well leave them here for Angela to stumble upon in bewildered surprise, after all. It takes a few minutes of Jesse’s comforting words reinforcing Gabe’s promise to bring them back to coax them into the hat.

“Get some rest. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Y’don’t have to,” Jesse mumbles sluggishly, but he’s looking at Gabe with a hopeful spark in his eyes.

“I want to,” he says, gaze affectionately tracing over Jesse’s face and chuckling at the answering dopey smile. Gabe waits until his breathing evens out, and when he’s sure Jesse’s drifted off into unconscious slumber, he indulges himself and leans down to brush his lips across his forehead. _Sleep well, mi corazón_ , he mouths the words, not yet brave enough to release them into the air.

He takes the birds back to his old quarters that night, thinking they might feel lonely in a Jesse-less room otherwise. What he doesn’t expect is to enjoy their antics quite so much when he finds the energy returned to them as they bounce about excitedly; whether from the recent visit to Jesse or being introduced to a new location, he can’t tell. (And if their presence makes his too-large commander’s dorm just a little less empty, a little less void of life, then that’s a nice change, he supposes.)

Gabe lets them sleep on the couch with an extra blanket laid over them, muses that he can get used to this surprisingly welcome addition to his room.

Especially when he wakes up with two of them tucked into the crook of his neck the next morning.

***

Gabe returns to the infirmary the next day, and the next, and the next, bringing a different bean-bird along every time so they all get their turn with Jesse, who gets discharged a week later but remains grounded from missions and confined to minimal physical exertion; doctor’s orders. Even after Torbjörn finishes working on his replacement arm, Jesse can’t get it fitted until the rest of his bones fully heal up, so until then, Gabe is content to wander around with him and provide an extra set of hands.

(Behind closed doors it makes for a rather entertaining scene, where the old Blackwatch leader’s efforts to help deal with the tricky bean-birds often result in peals of laughter from Jesse.)

It’s certainly an unusual sight for everyone else on base to see their charming resident cowboy being trailed after by the more menacing figure of Reaper, but Gabe doesn’t so much as hover as he does _loom_ , which Jesse finds hilarious after Gabe points out that it’s unintentional. It’s all fine by him, he couldn’t care less about being the topic of gossip, and if his intimidating behaviour doesn’t invite questions then that’s an extra bonus. It isn’t, however, enough to stop Ana with her sly quips of reliving a “pleasant déjà vu” that sends Gabe’s eyes rolling skyward and colours the tips of Jesse’s ears bright red.

Gabe doesn’t stop seeking out his company, though.

Which is where he finds himself a few weeks later, lurking in the corner of the ward and hanging onto a Shiver-occupied hat as Jesse gets fixed up with his new prosthetic. Apart from a smile that Ziegler greets him with Gabe’s presence isn’t acknowledged as she explains the newer functions to Jesse, and after carrying out some last-minute trials and tweaks on the arm, she leaves so he can get acquainted with it.

But not without directing a small, knowing smirk at her patient and briefly flicking her gaze up in Gabe’s direction. Wanting to give him some space, Gabe stays where he is and contemplates the pink flush that’s made its way up the side of Jesse’s neck, wonders about the way he avoids looking over at him and focuses intently on his new limb instead.

Gabe knows Jesse cares for him, has known this for a while now; the cowboy hasn’t exactly been shy with his touches, nor with the way he looks at him. He also knows that Jesse won’t push him for more, dragged down by enough guilt from when he left Gabe. Enough of it lies present just below the surface of too-lighthearted remarks whenever a part of Gabe’s body inadvertently turns intangible in front of him.

– “It’s not your fault,” he tells Jesse for the third time in as many days, after a random spasm has rocked his body and his hands have gone ethereal and there’s a hysterical edge to Jesse’s fussing that transpires.

“Jesse, look at me,” he waits until he has the other man’s attention, tries to keep his voice as steady as he can while he wrestles back control over the rest of his nanites. “Talon did this to me. Not you, not me, not even that stupid war I had with Morrison. Talon. You couldn’t have stopped it any more than I could, do you understand?”

“Yeah, Gabe,” Jesse says; it’s strained but there’s a hint of quiet acceptance even as his unsmiling gaze breaks off to turn towards the angry, high-pitched squawks coming from Gabe’s couch. –

Similarly, Gabe’s recent fondness has been more reserved than he likes because he knows Jesse deserves so much better than a spectre, little more than a broken man plagued with self-destructive tendencies. What he once said to the cowboy still rings true; he’s been rife with his own shame and guilt after regaining his memories and escaping from Talon, and he doubts those feelings will ever fade. After all, he was the one who drove Jesse away, who got played like a fiddle by the enemy, who has the blood of innocent people on his hands. How Jesse can still trust him, let alone welcome him back with open arms, is anyone’s guess.

So they’ve been stuck in a dance that’s going nowhere; one partner too convinced in his regrets and the other seeking an unattainable atonement.

But then Gabe sees Jesse lift up his newly fitted arm to examine it against the light, testing the fingers as he curls them in and out – and all of those misgivings fly out the window. The chrome glints, shiny and new, and Jesse looks as critical as he does curious, as determined as he does nervous – and just a little too lost. Every single shred of restraint and doubt is simply cast aside and forgotten as Gabe pushes off the wall he’s leaning against and strides over until he’s standing in front of the table that Jesse is perched on, balanced on the edge. He sets the hat down beside him but its occupant makes no move to hop out.

“May I?”

The cowboy straightens in surprise, then nods and silently extends the arm towards Gabe, who grasps it lightly with both hands and brings it close to his own face, handling it as gently as he would a newborn while he studies it for a few moments. Then he dips his head and drops light kisses onto the backs of each finger. There’s a sharp inhale and the cool metal hand curves around his, almost desperately.

“Gabe –”

“Love you, love you! I love you!” Shiver squeaks happily from his spot.

Ah, screw his shame. A corner of Gabe’s mouth twitches up. “What he said.”

When he meets Jesse’s gaze, it’s bright and watery, and Gabe releases one hand to brush back strands of his hair, lingers his touch by his cheek. His grey fingers contrasts rather sharply with the bronze of Jesse’s skin, but he’s gratified when the other man closes his eyes and leans into it.

“Reckon I can kiss you now?” Jesse murmurs.

What’s left of his heart beats so hard and so loud he’s surprised the ground beneath his feet isn’t shaking. “Won’t hear me complaining,” he says in turn.

He doesn’t deserve Jesse, doesn’t deserve his affections and brighter-than-the-sun smiles and his unwavering kindness and stubborn second chances. But he finds he’s a selfish man when it comes to a certain gunslinger, and he’ll take what he can get, he’ll take whatever Jesse’s willing to give him.

And right now Jesse’s more than willing, judging from the way his other hand shoots up to wrap around the front of Gabe’s hoodie and practically _yank_ him in until their lips meet for the first time. Gabe closes the rest of the distance until he’s standing in between Jesse’s legs, until he can feel the warmth from Jesse’s chest pressing tight against his and steady, exploring fingers make their way from his hoodie to the back of his neck and up his hair, tugging, tugging, tugging him even closer.

It’s a deep kiss; slow and consuming and spine-tingling. There’s no hesitance like Gabe expects, instead there’s a neediness that unfurls deep inside him of _more_. He sighs into the kiss, moves his mouth languorously against Jesse’s chapped ones, tangling his fingers with metallic ones and bringing them around his waist where they clench fast. His other hand has moved to cup Jesse’s face, gently cradling it and angling it just _so_ –

Jesse releases a whine and Gabe surges up to swallow it, suddenly greedy.

He doesn’t taste like ash, like Gabe was afraid he would, and that catches him off guard. Gabe doesn’t weep but it’s a damn near thing as he lets himself explore the flavors to assault his senses for the first time in a long while – Jesse’s flavors.

He tastes like leftover coffee and that godawful whiskey he favors, like the lingering smoke from those cheap cigarillos he loves so much, that Gabe fights the urge to replace with his own brand. He tastes like sweat and tampered wildness, like the New Mexico desert and heat. He tastes like leather and gunpowder, like a salty summer day, like sorrow and burning  _want_. He tastes like everything Gabe has imagined, and nothing at all like it.

He tastes like _Jesse_ and it’s blindingly addicting.

Gabe drowns in it.

It’s only when he feels a warm presence brush along the side of his face – the side that’s split and crumbling – that Gabe stumbles. He breaks off the kiss but doesn’t pull back, hesitates as his lips stay against Jesse’s. Sometime during the kiss he closed his eyes and now he’s reluctant to open them. He doesn’t know why, Jesse’s seen his face plenty of times before, has yet to flinch away from the daunting sight of his blood red eyes and the giant fucking hole in his cheek. But for some reason Gabe’s still waiting for the moment when the horror and disgust will finally catch up to Jesse and the next time that Gabe reaches out to him, he’ll shrink back from his touch. So he swallows hard and braces himself for –

A kiss is pressed to the side of his face, into his exposed canines, deliberate and soothing. He feels it all the way down to his bones. Gabe’s eyes fly open, catching the soul-crushingly sweet look that Jesse’s watching him with. And then the pad of his thumb is rubbing along the edges where the skin ends and it doesn’t hurt at all, but like before, Gabe can see the fragile bits of smoke break off from his cheek out of the corner of his eyes.

It’s sure to be a strange sight, except Jesse’s not at all bothered by that because he’s not looking at it, he’s looking into Gabe’s eyes like he’s happy, like he’s got everything in the world that he wants right here in front of him, and Gabe feels his heart beat that unsteady rhythm that it only ever does for this one man.

“I love you so fucking much,” he breathes out without testing the words on his tongue. It feels so right it hurts and he feels his control in his legs threaten to give way into smoke.

A shudder rocks through Jesse’s entire body and he rasps, “I love you too, Gabe.”

Gabe nearly breaks.

Jesse must see that because then he’s grinning and leaning over to capture his lips in another quick kiss, but no less intense. When he pauses for air, he leans his forehead against Gabe’s and says quietly, “Been a long time comin'.”

Gabe laughs and brings up Jesse’s prosthetic to kiss each knuckle again. Turning his head to the side, he eyes Shiver innocently watching them, recalls the first time he wanted to say those words to Jesse.

It was just after he recovered from the Deadlock mission and escaped up to his usual spot on the roof to watch the darkening sky. He wasn’t expecting company, at least not from Ana, so when he nearly came face-to-face with the one person he’d been avoiding like a coward, his first instinct was to disappear. Except Jesse had already seen him and they were finally alone together with no way for Gabe to escape like he would usually do around the base whenever he caught the cowboy approaching his direction a mile off. Gabe thought it was only a matter of time until Jesse hunted his ass down and he probably deserved what was coming to him.

But Jesse just stood there, face slack and mouth open in stunned, apprehensive surprise because he clearly didn’t expect Gabe to be there too and oh, that was a problem. That was very much a problem with they way Jesse was poised there, looking so goddamn beautiful framed against the orange glow of the sun at his back, hair mussed from the wind and serape draped across his broad shoulders.

It was like he stepped out from the fucking cover of a classic romance paperback.

(Gabe didn’t think that was fair.)

The tan in those cheeks flushed darker with red and for the next few minutes, all Gabe could feel was his heart plunging endlessly as he soaked in the sight of the man before him.

And then those three little words cut through the air between them and every inch of his body seized up.

For a prolonged, horrifying moment, Gabe was sure they tumbled out of him, unbidden and compulsive, restless from being trapped in his throat for far too long.

He didn’t dare hope it was Jesse but he had to ask.

Turned out it wasn’t either of them. Gabe couldn’t tell if the relief he felt was enough to outweigh the disappointment.

Now, though, he’s glad it’s this moment that he’s chosen to release the words of his own volition.

_I love you._

Gabe’s a broken man, but with Jesse he feels whole again; it’s a foreign concept to him, something he once thought was unreachable ever since the Crisis, and God knows he doesn’t deserve it after everything he’s done – and yet.

And yet, looking into those warm, brown eyes full of quiet joy, of blissful ease, full of so much _love_ , a sense of peace settles deep inside Gabe.

Their love isn’t perfect, will likely never be, and Jesse should be with someone who can give him the world, not a tired soul who can only offer a fragmented heart, ripped at the seams and clumsily stitched back together. But after everything, after all the blood and fights and secrets and heartache, this man still chose him and Gabe will be damned if he lets Jesse McCree slip through his fingers again. He’ll be his as long as Jesse wants him, and however long that is, Gabe will love him with everything in his splintering body and more.

They stand there, entwined and content as Gabe nuzzles against the other man and replies, “Yeah. Yeah, it has.” Both of his hands come up to cup Jesse’s face tenderly. “ _Mi corazón_ ,” he whispers against those lips, melts in the answering smile he feels, and Gabe gladly lets himself get lost in Jesse’s eyes.

Next to them on the table, Shiver happily hoots away, something akin to cheeky smugness in its cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously, this is set in Gabe's POV, which I always planned on having for the very last part, but never quite expected it to exceed a thousand words. The first half of this chapter has a lot of exploration into his feelings, so I apologise if it comes across a bit slower and duller than Jesse's POV. Hopefully I made up for it in the later bits, because what even are those last few paragraphs. I had to take myself off to the dentist for that tooth-rotting sweetness, but I hope everyone enjoyed the fluff :) All things considered, I'm pretty proud of how much I wrote, especially for my first piece of work.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading this silly thing I made and for all the amazing comments, y'all are the best. <3
> 
> P.s: I don't live in America or anywhere close to that part of the world, so I hope everyone there is alright and stays safe from the natural disasters that's been hitting those areas recently.
> 
> P.p.s: Decided to keep the title. It grew on me.


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